


As Tears Go By

by allsovacant



Series: something to cry on [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Fiction, M/M, Sad, Surfing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-05-24
Packaged: 2019-05-13 05:46:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14743085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allsovacant/pseuds/allsovacant
Summary: Chris said twenty years ago that Sherlock was the sea and John was the sky. And together they meet at the horizon. Never broken, never bent. And Sherlock knew they always will be.





	As Tears Go By

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Gimme Shelter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578941) by [SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John/pseuds/SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John). 



> [ "As Tears Go By"](https://youtu.be/g6PsahByRUU)— is a haunting ballad that was written by Mick Jagger, Keith Richards, and Rolling Stones' manager Andrew Loog Oldham, in 1964. By the time it was written, The Rolling Stones' wasn't known for doing ballads. It was released as a single by Marianne Faithfull the same year and peaked at number 9 in the United Kingdom. 
> 
> The Rolling Stones recorded their own version later, releasing the track in late 1965 on the album December's Children (And Everybody's) and subsequently as a single in North America.

Sherlock laid his bag at his feet and his suitcase beside him. He stood at the cliff watching the setting sun and the curtain of stars starting to appear above the sky. His coat billowing softly behind him from the wind. It was the same rocky cliff where he and Johnny Watson got married twenty years ago. Looking back throughout the years of their married life he never felt an inch of regret. John never made him feel that there was something to regret. Even when they retired to live a simple life and became Sherlock and John, not the Billabong champions Scotty and Johnny anymore.

But today, on the day when John never came back from his afternoon surf at the Waimea Bay, five years ago—Sherlock couldn't feel any emptier than he had when he stood on the shore awaiting John's return.

Before John was declared missing, he tried looking out for him aboard a motorboat with Hank. Hank never talked to him, but his presence was enough for him to stand on his ground and not to be lost. But they went back ashore that evening without finding John.

He didn't slept for days. He hardly ate. When a search party and volunteer divers were summoned by the local police to look for John or whatever's left of him, their friends Hank and Dickie volunteered to help, even Greg and his wife Molly, their friends, flew all the way from LA when they learned what had happened. Utterly devastated, Molly couldn't even talk without crying. To his dismay, Greg wouldn't allow him to go with them. He felt that Greg was mad at him, after all of the promises they made—keeping each other safe. But no one blamed him. And he hated himself because he was to blame. He shouldn't have let John go. He should've stopped him. But looking back now, could he prevent it from happening?

Sherlock remembered not going home. He packed his backpack with his personals and a sleeping bag. He even packed things for John, clothes, towel, balm—knowing John would be cold after being out there for so long. To his relief no one bothered him. He stayed by the shore until Hank tried talking to him. But he insisted on remaining there. He never cried—because he knows John will come back. He felt it. His gaze fixed towards the vastness of the sea beyond him—waiting for those blue eyes smiling at him like they did every other day, every other ordinary day. But John never returned. A month passed and then another and he continued his daily vigil of waiting for his husband until the records declared Johnny Watson, the Billabong Champion of 1976 was missing and presumed dead. The news shook the world of surfing like a tidal wave. Condolences reached Sherlock from the ISL and from all of his and John's colleague all over the world. His John suddenly became one of Waimea's unfortunate casualty.

But he didn't believed in that so he asked for another search and Greg and Molly helped him with almost everything including providing details about John and his surfboard. Media came but he refused to be interviewed and never accepted one. Three months have passed, and again, it was Greg and Molly who have found him sitting by the shore. They came with a local police from a nearby island who happened to know about the search for Johnny Watson, which was reported missing. The news from a nearby island confirmed the thoughts that were tucked away from the depths of his mind. John's surfboard was found broken in half and some pieces around the rocks from an unnamed island. It was reported that a strong current could've pushed John away from the boundaries. The waters at Waimea were deadly as a snake when it wanted to be. An opening to the Pacific, like a storm under the sea, always churning. Unpredictable and always waiting for an unwilling victim. Sherlock and John knew that. But still, Sherlock thought, as Molly held him, as he cried his heart out, he wished they had never experienced this. He wished he had never went through this. Hell, Sherlock wished he never let John go.

He could still remember that day like it was just yesterday. When John insisted on surfing at Waimea. They've been riding the waves for years ever since his and John's achievements. And he knew the risks but he trusted John that he allowed him just this time to go alone. Sherlock closed his eyes as his memories take him back to the day when he regretted every inch of himself.

_He woke up that morning and everything was perfect. He woke up with his husband snuggled close to him. They shared morning kisses and sex. They showered together had another round of intimacy. They ate breakfast together. They went to their shop and John went on to the children he was teaching about surfing. Their friend Hank arrived by lunch and looked after the shop. They went home and had their lunch. They talk about everything that came to their mind, laughed a lot, kissed a lot, and cherishing the moment with each other—just like any other ordinary day. Then John kissed him goodbye and went on to Waimea—and never came home._

Sherlock's thoughts were suddeny interrupted by the sound of laughter downhill. He saw a number of children playing close to the shore. Their guardians close by, and some are on the water with their surf boards. Once again he was reminded of the day he saw Johnny Watson by the pier, looking lost in his thoughts. The moment he felt he wanted this man more than a Billabong Pipeline trophy. Everything returned to him. The moments of their intimacy by the shore—their misunderstanding before John left for LA. When John returned and walked into his arms. When their feelings got sorted. The day of his Waimea events, when John stood there with his mother—their wedding.

_Their wedding._

A tear fell from Sherlock's eyes remembering their wedding. Their vows to each other, when he couldn't say anything but John's name. He choked a sob as he was reminded of that feeling when he said John's name and it was enough for his husband-to-be. Because every inch of his love was there, with John's name and he cried even more when he realised John knew. He's not very good at words but John understood. It was worth everything. Every single pain he had experienced when he was a kid that led to him picking up his first surfboard. Learning about surfing, getting his jellyfish tattoo, joining surfing events that eventually led to his meeting with Johnny Watson. _His_ John.

Sherlock breathed out and walked down towards the shore. The sun was getting smaller towards the horizon—the moon taking its place above him. He watched as the locals leave to retire to their homes and he was left alone again. He laid his blanket to the sand, sat down and closed his eyes. He listened to the waves as it crashed with each other. Offering a calming presence. He opened his eyes and thought of the days he spent with John, lying on their favourite blanket, snuggled with each other, along the shore. There was always something magical when the day and the night sky collides with the sea. And John would always say that wherever he maybe he'll always be with him just like the sea, always there to meet with the sky. And Sherlock would laugh at John teasing him that his old age was making him sentimental. And John would look him in the eye and Sherlock knew, and he felt John's sincerity with those eyes. And his husband would kiss him slowly, tenderly--whispering 'I love you's' with one another—as they fell asleep with each others arms. And as the night faded into dawn. It's just them alone in the shore.

Sherlock treasured that memory. He treasured all of their memories and he's bringing everything with him when he flies to England tomorrow and settle at a country house in Sussex that he bought a week ago. Living the last four years without John has never been easy. But his mom was there, and Mikey, his brother, that has grown fond of John when they met some early years ago. And there's Greg and Molly as always supportive. It made things less unbearable. He traveled a lot until he found the right place in Sussex. A place John would've loved. But John was always with him—in him.

But on this day, every year, he will return to the shores for his husband. As long as he's able. As long as he's alive.

His gaze turns towards the sea and Sherlock's breath hitches as he sees the familiar image of a man with his surfboard faraway. Suddenly, Chris' words on his and John's wedding day echoed through his mind.

_"The sky and the sea were once one—A vast expanse of the same unbreakable blue, stretching unbounded for eternity. Hovering over the surface of the Earth.  
One day the earth realized that the sky and sea could no longer remain one entity. And so she divided them softly down the middle, separating wet from dry, water from air, the waves from the clouds. But you see, they are not separate at all. They are the full sky. And they are the full sea. And yet they are also joined together seamlessly into one by the horizon line you see. And the sea sends its waves up towards the heavens to greet the sky, and the sky sends its wind down to kiss the surface of the water. And in that way, they are still one.”_

A tear fell in his eyes as his thoughts were brought back by the image of John riding the waves with a bright smile on his face.  
The image of John turned to wave at him, eyes glistening and surf's away.

Chris said twenty years ago that Sherlock was the sea and John was the sky. And together they meet at the horizon. Never broken, never bent. And Sherlock knew they always will be.

Again, Sherlock raised a hand and waved back like he always did and watched as the figure vanished in the horizon.

Gathering up the blanket, he stood up took his bag and suitcase with him and looked once more at the waves and with tears in his eyes he whispered to the wind, _"Surf like hell, John Watson."_

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this fic in one sitting last night but the idea of this, how troubling may be, had been tucked away in the depths of my mind three months ago after I finished reading the novel this was inspired to. And the rest was history.
> 
> A/N:  
> The italicized line from Chris was taken from the wedding chapter of Gimme Shelter itself. All credits goes to SinceWhenDoYouCallMe_John for that hauntingly beautiful wedding ceremony.


End file.
